The very last day of summer vacation is winding to a close. I couldn’t be happier about it.

I survived. I survived twelve weeks. In a row. It wasn’t easy.

• I have driven my son back and forth, crisscrossing Carmichael and Fair Oaks a hundred thousand times.
• I have facilitated swimming lessons, nature camp, and art camp.
• I have created and enabled a weekly playgroup with six of Lucas’s friends.
• I have pushed children on swings, filled kiddie pools, witnessed countless acts of 6- and 1-year-old bravery and daring.
• I have watched my baby learn to walk and protected him from his own reckless curiousity.
• I have attended family birthday parties and reunions.
• I have visited my elderly grandmother even though she is sometimes mean and makes my son uncomfortable.
• I have sewn tiny pants and crayon cases and a dolly and an alien puppet.
• I have refrained from major spending sprees.
• I have edited at least five books.
• I have drunk more vodka in the last twelve weeks than ever before.

First grade starts tomorrow morning. Tomorrow is the time to reflect on that perfect, beautiful moment when Lucas steps off into a new world.

Tonight, I’m grateful. I made it.

We’ve started taking Asher on walks, where he gets to actually walk. Obviously, we don’t go far. For the 18 millionth time, I am grateful to live on a dead-end street that ends at a schoolyard. Sometimes in the evenings after dinner, we all go out and wander our street a little. These are child-led outings. They aren’t for exercise. They aren’t for getting anywhere. We tag along after Asher and usually end up stuck in one spot, staring at a neighborhood cat or a dog behind a back gate. These walks are for picking up sticks or rocks. For staring at marching ants or spiders or beetles. For throwing liquidambar spikey balls. For practicing walking up and down a tiny curb. They are about hearing the slap of fat, leather-clad baby feet on the pavement and excited whooping when he sees something that interests him. 

Lucas thinks these walks are both silly and frustrating. After all, we hardly go anywhere at all, wandering about aimlessly, usually within a couple houses’ distance of our own home. Sometimes he takes off running to the stop sign at the top of the slight hill. Sometimes he runs headlong down to the school field, zipping past Asher so close and so fast the little one falls over. Asher is amazed by this show of big-kid prowess. He points and coos and giggles at his big brother’s antics … when he’s not staring at a bug, that is.

Today, Asher got his hat, went to the front door, and signed “go, go, go.” I had to remind him we needed clothes and shoes, too.

I need to find a way to turn my frown upside down. I have a hair trigger these days. I’m crabby with my kids. Ian wishes I would smile more. It doesn’t help that I’m insanely jealous of my nearest and dearest who are embarking on life-changing, mind-blowing, sexy adventures like Burning Man and world travel. Someday …

Things are definitely way better than they were a month ago. To outsiders, it might seem that very little has changed, but to me it definitely feels better. I’ve been getting more projects and earning more money. My trips to the gym are paying off in small but noticeable ways, not the least of which is that I’m enjoying my treadmill runs. It is good for my body and even better for my brain. 

I’m looking forward to school starting. Twelve weeks of summer vacation is exhausting. We have seven more days of vacation and then first grade starts for Lucas. Returning to a daily rhythm in which I have a little space/time to myself will be sooo good for me, and it will also be good for Lucas to have the daily companionship of his friends. They are as rambunctious as he. Asher and I are just not able to keep up with his 6-year-old fount of energy and constant blathering. His attitude is sometimes shitty and I find myself grouching at him all too often. 

Another bonus will be having more contact with other parents, some of whom I can be bitchy with and some of whom inspire me to be a better mom. A balance between venting and centering in my Now is what I hope to strike again. I have sorely missed my friend Kelly because she makes me feel so much better about what I’m doing with my life at present. She is one of those people who just looks into your soul, forgives you your faults, and tells you “There, there. It will all be fine.”  Also, the school has meetings, lectures, and various events that support and hold us as parents, so that we may better hold our children. I find participation has been helpful the last two years of Kindergarten. I hope it will continue to be so through the grades.

Asher will be going to the babysitters’ more often, starting next week, too, so I’ll have a little more space away from him as well. This will allow me to work and meet my deadlines, find new clients, operate as a professional with a brain instead of a mere milk-making machine. Hopefully, he’ll make a bunch of new friends closer to his age. He has become accustomed to going to Ring-A-Rosies two mornings a week. When I say, “Let’s go to school so you can play with your kids” he nods, smiles, and heads for the door, saying “Gg!” So I am optimistic that he will adjust well to four mornings per week. 

When I look at my present emotional health, or lack thereof, I am reminded of the time of year. I have observed over the years that late summer/early autumn is a time of big internal change. It’s a time of evaluating where I stand, tearing down constructs that no longer serve me, reviewing, revisioning, reinventing. It is a crazy time of upheaval. Skeletons walk beside me and I’m certain that everyone can see them as well as I. I have come to accept this as part of my own cycle, the turning of my own wheel of the year. It jibes with others’, but since it’s my own personal mythology that I ascribe to, that fact doesn’t really matter. I just expect earthquakes to shake everything out. I must simply embrace it and let the change wash over me. 

“You’re not only the best mommy in the world. You’re the best girl I’ve ever known.”

All other mamas gnash their teeth with jealousy.

It appears that Asher has a name for Lucas now: “Bobby.” I think it’s his approximation of “brother,” and it totally cracks me up. Lucas was hoping to be called “Bubba,” but it seems Asher has a different idea.

Also, Asher is now saying “Mommy” and “Daddy,” with very clear “ee” sounds at the end, in addition to “Mama” and “Dada.” We think he is saying “Gg!” for “go” and “Dd!” for “down.”

And so it begins.

Tomorrow is a big, big day for

dizzyburner 

, my darling husband. Tomorrow at noon he has to sit for an exam given by the Behavior Analysts Certification Board to get the upgrade of the BCABA (Board Certified Associate Behavior Analyst) certification that he already has. If he passes tomorrow, which he WILL DO, he will be a BCBA (Board Certified Behavior Analyst—are you dizzy yet?), which is a big deal in his line of work. He has been striving on this path a long, long time—about three years, I think. For more than two years he was taking online courses from two different universities, simultaneously pursuing a Master’s degree and this BCBA credential. Two Augusts ago he took the associate’s level exam and passed. Last February, he finished the Master’s degree. Without it, he wasn’t even allowed to take tomorrow’s test. He has studied a lot this month, and about 8 hours per day for the last week. I’ve done my best to keep the children occupied elsewhere and it worked pretty well. We’re all tired, but not as tired as Ian. His eyes are crossing and I can tell he’s bored to death with studying. By 4:00 p.m. tomorrow, it will all be over and done.

So if you friends have any spare cycles, despite all the packing and loading and driving and traveling and ready-making, please send some good vibes and good wishes to Ian. I’m pulling for him with all my love and faith in his brilliance.

Good luck, sweetheart!

That deadbeat publisher I worked for April through mid-June finally paid me. Actually, it happened a couple of weeks ago, and I was so excited to rush to the bank I forgot to post about it. 

It’s funny to realize how poorly I am wired for this type of scrapping. As soon as the money was in my account, I started thinking how silly it was of me to make such a fuss. I thought bullshit like, See? They were going to pay you all along. Now you’ve burned a bridge and you’re out a good client. But a client who thinks it’s OK to pay invoices at 96 days out is NOT a GOOD CLIENT. Somehow the $25 per hour that this deadbeat client eventually paid started to look good because lately I keep encountering companies that pay $11 or $17 per hour. Which sucks. But it’s weird inside my head sometimes. 

Since that time, I’ve tried to come to terms with what happened. I’ve thought about it a lot because deep down, I really want people to like me. Yesterday, I gathered my pluck and wrote to M. E. again because I don’t like the idea of burning bridges. She was only a cog in a big machine.

Dear M. E.,

SarabellaE

She wrote me back, too.

Dear SarabellaE,

 

I’m glad that whatever small help I was able to offer seems to have borne fruit!

My summer is going well — if swiftly — and i find myself, now, looking forward woth some eagerness to fall.

Hoping your summer has been a good one —

 

M. E.

I guess that’s probably about all the closure I’m going to get. Ian says I did the right thing by sticking up for myself and getting uppity. 

dakini_grl 

counseled me a lot during this time, and images of her T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan “Well-behaved women rarely make history” have flashed through my mind many times this summer.

foseelovechild

  has been inspiring, too. 

Thanks to everyone who gave me words of support and made harassing phone calls on my behalf.

Dear friends who are leaving for wide-open desert skies, Mexican beaches, Irish stages, and other faraway destinations,

Bon voyage! Enjoy! Suck the marrow of life 

… or whatever floats your boat. 

It’s an exciting time of transformation, explosive creativity, making connections, falling in love, losing one’s self, unraveling, tearing down walls, soaring desires, sexiness, celebration, community, dancing, building art, fire, peace, catharsis, and rock ‘n’ roll. 

I love you all. I’ll be thinking energizing, empowering, and hydrating thoughts for you over the next week and a half. I hope your adventures inspire you and fulfill your dearest wishes. Be your authentic, truest selves. Be careful when it counts and be daring as often as possible. For thine is the power and the glory.

Love always,
SarabellaE

I participated in the second sewing bee of my life today (the first one involved some 300 yards of white canvas, grommets, leather, and a ton of borax for a geodesic dome cover). Some of you know that my longtime motto was “I don’t sew.” Well, I guess it can’t be my motto anymore because I’ve done quite a lot of sewing this summer!

Today I met with four other moms from Lucas’s first-grade class. We have been tasked with sewing crayon cases. Yes. You read that right. Crayon cases. They are fabric cases with 32 little pockets for individual crayons to be stored in. The cases roll up and tie with a ribbon. They are meant, I think, not only for storage, but also to instill in the children some care and reverence for the super fancy, expensive, high-quality Stockmar crayons that Sacramento Waldorf School uses. Each child will get his/her own hand-made crayon case. Each child will learn to keep the crayons safe inside it.

There is a bunch of pedagogy and anthroposophy behind these crayon cases. I don’t pretend to understand it all, but it includes theories about color, emotion, form drawing, and child development. At first, the children will be given only some colors to use in their artwork and lessons. As they grow and become more sophisticated, they will be given more colors to use. 

These cases are blue corduroy with red ribbons for ties. They are being lovingly crafted from scratch by a handful of moms. They are a pain in the ass … labor-intensive. We need more helpers, frankly, because the time until the start of school is a mere two weeks. I’ll post pictures when I have something to show. At this point, I don’t even have one completed yet. Yikes!

First Haircut
We decided that 18 months would be a good age for Asher to get his first proper haircut. I say “proper” because the truth is, I’ve trimmed his bangs so he could see twice. But this was the big haircut. The one where you save the hair in a little Ziploc (my, I use these a lot!) baggie for who knows what purpose.

So, last Saturday morning after breakfast, we all four ventured outside into the shady part of the lawn with Lucas’s fancy Stokke seat, since it doesn’t have a high back. We strapped Asher in, continuously handed him toys and other objects of interest, and I started cutting. We enlisted Lucas’s help and told him to run around the yard and do funny things to keep Asher entertained. Ian was in charge of the camera.

A few “Before” shots.
 
So long! Everybody thinks he’s a girl with this long hair.

Red glasses are distracting!

I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. I mean, I didn’t poke his eye out with my scissors!

All done! 

Lucas’s Turn
We planned to give Lucas a trim next. Usually, he fights and doesn’t want a haircut. Usually, he says he wants his hair long like a rockstar’s, long so it can fly behind him when he runs. 
This time, he surprised us by saying he wanted his hair cut short like his little brother’s. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really, REALLY sure?” (I was nervous that he would hate the short cut and blame me for the next two months.)
“Yes.”

He liked playing with the spray bottle.

 
actually gave Lucas two haircuts—a trim, and then a cut, when he persisted that he wanted it really short. “Short like Asher’s!” It was kind of nerve-racking. He was amazingly patient.

 
Ta da! Lucas has gotten lots of compliments on the shorter hair (especially from grandparents), and says it’s so much cooler now ! Many people have said it makes him look older, like a first-grader. So fortunately, he seems to really like it. Thank goodness! What a relief!